Author's Note:
This is my third and final attempt to get this story out. Universe willing, it will happen. Between external hard drives dying, laptops deciding to quit, work, health and many other factors, I've been loath to try again.
But, at the urging of a very talented writer in their own right, I'm trying.
So... Let's try this, Once Again.
This story will be separated into a prequel, a main story, and there's a tiny chance of a sequel. I will not promise to post within set time frames... I will not promise that it will be amazing or captivating, it's not beta'ed and WILL contain errors. (feel free to point them out if you see one). I'm writing this for myself this time, it will get done. Eventually. But I WILL get it done.
Thank you KittenFair. (And I promise, this one, it won't be creepy. ;p)
Prologue - The Flame to Start the Fires.
"Even if the morrow is barren of promises, nothing shall forestall my return. To become the dew that quenches the land. To spare the sands, the seas, the skies, I offer thee this silent sacrifice."
Words echoed in a vast cavern, illuminated green from some source unidentifiable, something 'other'. The speakers voice lilted and rolled, speaking with a passion that was tinged with old pain. "Do you think I have a chance of redemption, old friend?" A soft, masculine chuckle, followed then the sound of leather brushing against leather and stone, as a figure rose to its feet. "Maybe not redemption, but at least a step in the right direction for a change, eh? We shall see… Should they stop and listen, perhaps they will help, however ..."
There was a pause and a long sigh from the speaker. "This is something that must be done, for you. For me. For all of them. Time. That's what it's always boiled down to, you know. Time. No hesitation, right old friend?" There seemed to be a thrumming from the very air, as though it were alive and agreed with the speaker.
The rasp of metal on stone echoed as the figure drew a sword from where it lay on the ground, the red and silver blade gleaming in the soft light. Cerulean eyes glowed softly with sadness, regret, anger and pain. "I only hope I have enough. Legend shall speak of sacrifice at world's end…" The man shook his head before sheathing his sword at his waist, turning and striding purposefully towards a darkened tunnel. He scooped up a worn, dark, traveling cloak as he passed where it lay on a stone, boots making not a sound as he was swallowed by the darkness.